and shaking and tearing at it, and thrashing away through the now turbulent locks of the ironwoods. As the light grew, he flopped over so that he could watch the course of the wind as it came tearing down the mountain, with the trees bending before it and swaying writhing arms and flinging vines high in the air from their tossing branches. Then he turned back to find if it were light enough for him to catch a glimpse of the sea beyond the valley. But it was not, and it seemed that he had just closed his eyes for an instant, when he heard the roaring of a particularly heavy blast come booming down the mountain, and he opened them against just as the blast reached him and flapped loose a corner of his sheet. He made a quick jerk to grab it; and then suddenly the ironwoods began to slide past him most bewilderingly, his bed lurched in the teeth of the blast, he attempted to spring from it, but his feet were too well enswathed in the folds of the sheet;—the last ironwood, the one standing below the level of the ridge, pitched itself up toward him, his couch dipped and banked like a biplane on a curve; he flung out both arms, his sheet soared away upon the blast, he gathered to his bosom a great armful of ironwood boughs,—and suddenly glimpsed himself as a small boy on a platform reciting Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight. "Out she swung, far out. The city seemed a tiny speck below!" And then, from that far distance be-
